


better than death (by far)

by orphan_account



Category: Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand & Finger Kink, Kinda, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resident Evil 2 (Remake), Size Kink, The gloves stay on during sex, i'm too impatient for that shit, leather. lots of leather, leon gets the dicking he DESERVES, leon scott kennedy is a power bottom - change my mind, no beta we die like men, pretty much everything stays on, there's way too many buckles on the tyrant's clothes to deal with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: apparently the hulking, leather-clad goliath that has been stalking leon doesn't actually want to kill him.at least not directly.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Mr. X | Tyrant T-00, Leon S. Kennedy/Tyrant
Comments: 30
Kudos: 533





	1. oh fuck, it's you

**Author's Note:**

> the google doc for this was titled "( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)"

Puzzles. Fucking puzzles.

Leon was sick of them. Seriously, who fills a _police station_ with puzzles? Who hid their USB key in a jewelry box?

Whatever. At least he’d finally found it. The Lightning Hawk that it would unlock had been teasing him for over an hour, just out of reach behind a metal gate. The standard-issue pistol he’d been carrying around couldn’t hold a candle to that thing. Maybe he’d be able to finally take out the Tyrant that had been following him around.

He doubted it, but it was fun to think about. He toyed with the fantasy of bringing down that 8-foot behemoth while he watched the Windows 95 loading screen of the computer that controlled the weapons locker.

The creature hadn’t actually hurt him yet, but deadlifting a helicopter and crushing a man’s skull like an egg was enough of a warning for Leon. Yeah, maybe he was finding zombies with their heads stomped in and lickers torn in two, so the Tyrant was essentially the only threat he had to worry about, but that didn’t negate the fact that he was still just that. A threat.

The computer had finally booted up, presenting him with a desktop crammed with files and programs. The computer had been open the last he was here, with the security program loaded, but he had returned to find it unplugged. Not the weirdest thing he’d found in this place, but it did concern him to think that someone or something had done it, whether by accident or to specifically hinder him.

Whatever the reason was, he was forced to spend several minutes picking through programs, searching for anything that looked “official”. Most of them were labelled something unhelpful, like _32u-s67-dhf.run_ , which was just his luck. Obviously, someone with a desktop that looked like an upturned trashcan wouldn’t label any of their shit.

The frustrating task and prospect of a new weapon was apparently enough to distract Leon from the thundering footsteps coming down the hall.

One massive leather-gloved hand flung the door open with enough force to nearly rip it from its hinges, and Leon jumped, cursing as he spun to face the intruder.

Looming in the doorway stood the Tyrant in all his terrifying glory.

This wasn’t the first time Leon had been cornered in a room like this, and he had quickly figured out that the Tyrant's only weakness was his maneuverability. He could use these crowded areas to his advantage, dashing around furniture and slipping just out of reach.

The Tyrant, however, seemed to have caught on to that by now. He bent under the doorway and cleared the group of desks like they were made of cardboard, reducing them to a pile of shattered wood against the far wall. It was not at all what Leon was expecting, and he froze, frantically trying to come up with another escape plan.

It was enough of a pause to allow the Tyrant to cross the room in two heavy strides and grab him by the straps of his kevlar vest. Leon’s world lurched as he was dragged away from the computer desk, dropping the gun he had started to draw. He tried to loosen the monster’s grip on him, but it was useless.

 _His knife._ He still had a combat knife. Leon yanked the blade from the sheath on his thigh and plunged it into the giant’s wrist, twisting when he felt it hit bone. The hand went limp from the shock and dropped him to the floor. He landed hard on his tailbone, sending sparks of pain up his spine but he ignored it, scrabbling for his gun.

He stumbled to his feet, half crawling to where his weapon had skittered a few feet away, faintly aware of the Tyrant yanking the knife out of his wrist without even flinching. His hand was just about to close around the gun when a heavy leather boot connected with his ribs, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him sprawling across the room.

Spots danced across Leon’s vision as he lay on his back, stunned. His mouth tasted like copper and every breath tore at his throat, but it didn’t feel like he’d broken any ribs. Which was weird, considering how easy it would have been for the Tyrant to shatter every bone in his body. He could've just stomped his skull in and be done with it.

Why was he still alive?

He managed to pull himself onto his elbows, wincing at the protests of his battered body. The Tyrant was just… standing there. Staring at him.

“Are you gonna kill me or what?”

Leon wasn’t quite sure what drove him to taunt the monster that was more than capable of pounding him into oblivion, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He was once again grabbed by his vest, with the same hand as before. From what Leon could see through the hole in his glove, the wound had closed over completely, without so much as a trace of a scar. It wasn’t much of a surprise, he’d seen this guy take a round to the face without slowing down.

The Tyrant lifted him off the ground and pinned Leon between himself and the wall, standing close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off the giant. He was expecting a fist to the face, repeatedly, but the creature just held him there, staring at his face like he was trying to commit every detail to memory.

He flinched as a hand was raised to his face, violently reminded of Ben’s fate in the cell.

Leon had heard of whiplash before, hell, he’d experienced it earlier that night when he was hit by a fucking semi. But even that couldn’t prepare him for this situation, for being held against a wall by an 8-foot killing machine and having it tenderly stroke his face.

The leather was warm as it traced abstract patterns over his cheek, a massive thumb trailing over his mouth. It might have been calming if not for the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the voice in the back of his head screaming at him to _RUN! Punch him in the nose and run! GO GO GO!_

Leon was not a picky man. He’d had his fair share of flings in college and the police academy. Male, female, neither, you name it, he’s done or been done by it. So he was more than familiar with the _wanting_ , the _need_ he saw in the Tyrant’s eyes.

What the _fuck_ had his life become?

“H-hey big guy," Leon choked out, wondering if it was a bad idea even as he said the words, “You need something?” The adrenaline was wearing off, but there were still warning bells going off in his head.

The Tyrant froze when he spoke. He rumbled deep in his chest, something between a growl and a purr, and pressed his thumb to Leon’s mouth.

Alright. This was happening.

Leon parted his lips, lapping at the pad of the Tyrant’s thumb. Leather was not an unfamiliar taste to him, thanks to some of his partners’ more… unconventional desires. He took the massive digit into his mouth, sucking teasingly and swirling his tongue around the tip. Leaning forwards, he took it all the way down to the giant’s palm, eyes fluttering shut when he felt it hit the back of his throat. If this was the size of his _thumb_ , Leon didn’t think he’d survive if this went any further. Sure, he might have a thing for guys who were bigger than him, but the Tyrant was _huge_ . He didn’t _literally_ want to get his guts rearranged.

He’d have to tire him out another way.

He swallowed a few times around his thumb before pulling all the way off, suckling the end and leaning into his palm. He was playing it up, the breathless moans, the coy looks and fluttering lashes, but it wasn’t _all_ fake. There was still that voice in his head, but its screaming had become more of a hesitant whisper of _You can’t_ **_seriously_ ** _be thinking about blowing him right now._

The Tyrant’s breathing was heavy, laboured, shuttering, and he was watching Leon’s mouth intently. He shifted, shoving Leon further up the wall and wedging one bulky thigh between his legs to support him, letting go of his vest to grab him by the hip.

Leon moaned at the sudden pressure to his groin, wrapping his legs around the Tyrant’s thigh and grinding down. A flush was beginning to creep up his neck and he felt like he was going to suffocate if he kept his uniform on for any longer. He fumbled with the straps of kevlar with one hand, cupping the giant hand that held his head with the other. Even if he managed to work the straps open he wouldn’t be able to take off the vest in this position.

He pulled off the Tyrant’s thumb with a lewd *pop* and pressed a few sloppy kisses to his palm. “P-please, let me down.”

The Tyrant wasn’t really one for facial expressions, but Leon could tell he was hesitant.

“I promise, I’m not going to run.”

With a grunt, he pulled his thigh back and lowered him to the ground with more care than Leon would have thought possible. His legs wobbled and almost gave out, but he managed to stay on his feet. He didn’t realize just how much he’d been letting this get to him.

He made quick work of the vest, tossing it, his gloves, and the hip pouches in the general direction of his gun to gather later. Fuck it, might as well lose the shirt too. This was gonna get messy, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to find another. Yanking it over his head, he hissed at the sudden rush of cold air against his overheated skin.

He was acutely aware of the Tyrant watching his every move, still breathing hard, as if he were waiting for him to make a break for it. But Leon was never one to run from a challenge.

He reached out, grabbing the straps of the Tyrant’s coat and tugging, trying to pull him closer.

He didn’t budge.

“C'mon big boy, I can’t be the only one shirtless here. Let’s get that off of you.”

The Tyrant didn’t move to help with the buttons of his coat, and Leon wondered if he had dressed himself, or if some scientist had done it for him. Were meetings held to decide what outfit would make him look the most intimidating? Who decided on the hat?

He shoved the coat open, revealing more leather underneath. An overly complicated shirt tucked into black leather slacks, so maybe Leon would be the only shirtless one. Dropping to his knees, he cupped the massive bulge at the Tyrant’s crotch, pressing his face into the crook of his thigh. A low growl filled the room, and for a terrifying second he thought he’d crossed a line, but the giant only started breathing harder.

Leon fumbled with the belt, hands shaking with anticipation as he pulled the material down. One part of him winced at the thought of going commando in leather pants, while the other part marveled at the sheer size of the now-bare cock in front of him. It was longer than his forearm and too heavy to stand upright, sagging under its own weight. Precome oozed from the head, dripping down his length and onto Leon’s chest.

To say his mouth watered at the sight would be an understatement.

He took the giant member in one hand, lifting it level with his mouth. He ran a hand along the underside, gathering precome and smearing it over the head. He licked a long, wet stripe down the shaft, pressing a few kisses into the base before licking back up to the head. The Tyrant growled again, twisting one giant, shaking hand into Leon’s hair, tugging gently as he pulled it back from his face.

“Mmm, thank you,” Leon murmured, staring up at him through half-lidded eyes.

Pressing another kiss against the weeping head, he took the tip into his mouth, sucking teasingly. He pulled back until it barely brushed his lips, taking a deep breath, steadying himself, and pushed forwards again. He dropped his jaw as far as he could, lips stretching around the girth of it, but it hit the back of his throat before he could get halfway down the shaft.

He groaned, a desperate, muffled noise, and shifted his angle, trying to take the Tyrant even deeper. But even Leon has his limits, and this was apparently it. No matter what he tried, the Tyrant was just too big to deepthroat, and his lungs were screaming for air.

He pulled off, coughing and sputtering, his head swimming.

The Tyrant grabbed his head with both hands and pulled him back to his cock.

“Yeah, I know, I know. Just- just gimme a minute to catch my breath.”

He took a few shuddering breaths, pulse pounding in his ears. _Come on, Leon. You can do this_. He opened his mouth, letting the Tyrant guide him down again. Surprisingly, the giant set a slow pace, indulging in every inch.

Leon fell into a rhythm. _Pull back, swirl your tongue around the head. Take it all the way down, use your hands on what you can’t reach. Swallow a few times, come up for air. Moan. Drool. Make a mess._

The Tyrant seemed to be enjoying it, watching Leon work with hazy eyes, chest heaving with every breath, filling the room with his low growls. So it startled Leon when he was suddenly pulled off his cock, a few strands of saliva still stretching between it and his swollen lips.

Then he was hauled to his feet and spun to face the wall, chest pressing against the plaster. There were hands at his belt, snapping it in two and ripping his jeans and underwear out of the way, the shredded clothing falling down around his boots. The hands were on his hips, nearly encompassing his waist, gripping tightly enough to bruise. He jumped as he felt the Tyrant press his cockhead against his entrance.

“H-hey! Woah, woah, woah, hold on! You can’t- you can’t just go in raw like that, you’ll split me in two!” Leon squirmed out of his grasp, turning to face the Tyrant that stared down at him, milky eyes burning with desire.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any lube in that coat of yours, huh?”

The Tyrant blinked at him.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

His legs shook at the idea of that thing anywhere near his ass. Could he do it?

Well. There’s only one way to find out.

“Sit down, I need to be on top.”

The room shook with the force of the Tyrant hitting the floor, nearly knocking Leon over as he kicked away what little remained of his pants. He didn’t expect him to obey so readily, but it was certainly going to make this a lot easier. 

He straddled the Tyrant’s massive thighs, seating himself just below his cock, letting it rest against his stomach. Stroking it absently, he gathered the precome that had started to drip down its length, smearing it between the first two fingers of his other hand.

Better than nothing.

Leon reached behind him, pressing slick fingers into himself and gasping at the stretch. He worked himself open, adding a third, then a fourth finger, pushing as deep as his knuckles would allow. It still wasn’t enough.

“H-hey. I need your hand,” he stuttered out, grabbing at the Tyrant’s closest arm. “Your fingers are bigger than mine.”

A giant hand cupped his ass cheek, fingertips brushing his twitching hole. A groan bubbled out of Leon as the first thick finger slid in, leather dragging along his insides and setting nerves aflame with the most pleasant fire. He cried out as a second finger pushed its way in beside the first, the burn of it bringing tears to his eyes.

“Gah-! Easy, jesus. N-not so fast.”

The burn soon subsided into a dull ache, his hips rolling back against the Tyrant’s hand, forehead pressed against his impossibly broad chest. Leon shivered as he brushed against that spot inside him, that spot that sent pleasure crackling up his spine, heat blooming deep in his belly.

A third finger joined the others, tearing another cry from his throat. Leon was panting now, his face and chest flushed red, hands shaking where they’re twisted in the Tyrant’s coat. His hips stuttered, wanting to chase this wonderful full feeling and pull away from it at the same time. It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

He wanted _more_.

He pulled the Tyrant’s hand away, ignoring the displeased growl it earned him and whimpering at the sudden, aching emptiness. With shaking hands, he fumbled with the Tyrant’s cock until he felt the tip of it against his entrance.

One shuddering, steadying breath, and he tilts his hips back.

The first few inches slide in and Leon makes a noise that barely counts as a moan, hoarse and broken. He’s never been stretched like this before, never felt this intoxicating combination of pleasure and pain. His legs give out, but there are hands on his waist, holding him steady, pulling him down in a slow, steady breach of his body.

Leon writhed as the Tyrant slides deeper, whimpering, waiting for that sharp jab of pain, when he can take no more, but it never comes. The overwhelming drag against his insides doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated in the Tyrant’s lap, the cold press of a zipper against his ass.

_Holy_ **_shit_**.

There are tears pouring down his face, dripping off his chin. His brain doesn’t quite process it right away, can’t comprehend that _it’s inside him_. All of it.

The Tyrant shifts and Leon _screams_ , toes curling, leather creaking as he grips his coat until his knuckles turn white. The tears come faster and he starts babbling, words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he can think. _God, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t do it. Please, god, no more._

He collapses against the Tyrant, hyperventilating into his chest. 

There’s a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles, and another combing through his hair.

Slowly, slowly, his breathing evens out, the tears stop pouring. He tilts his head up to look at the Tyrant, who shifts his hand down to cup his cheek, wiping away his tears.

 _Alright Leon, quit being a little bitch. You’ve made it this far, there’s no sense stopping now_.

Pushing himself up, he prepares for another onslaught of overwhelming sensation, but the pleasure that courses through his veins is of a far more manageable level.

He locks eyes with the Tyrant.

“ _Fuck me._ ”

The hands are wrapping around his waist again, lifting him almost completely off of his cock, and then he’s being _slammed_ back down.

Again.

And again.

And _again_.

The Tyrant sets a brutal pace, each powerful thrust knocking the wind from Leon’s lungs, forcing the most _shameful_ noises out of him. Any coherent thought is fucked out of him, and it’s all he can do to hold on and _take_ _it_. Lewd, wet noises fill the room every time their hips connect.

Leon is burning from the inside out, every nerve alight with fierce, white-hot pleasure, lightning sparking along his spine and pooling in his stomach like liquid fire. The pool builds and builds and builds and then it’s overflowing, spilling out of him in an orgasm that makes his vision flicker, screaming slurred, half-formed words. He’s crying again.

The Tyrant fucks him through it, but his hips are stuttering, faltering in their rhythm, lips peeled back in a snarl. He moves a hand from Leon’s waist and presses a thumb to his mouth.

Leon takes it without even thinking, sucking desperately as the Tyrant slams into him once, twice, three more times, and then he’s following, spilling deep into Leon and roaring, deafeningly loud in the small room.

It’s quiet after that, and they lay there, panting through the afterglow, Leon sprawled across the Tyrant’s chest. His stomach feels impossibly full, and he swears he can feel the Tyrant’s load sloshing when he moves. The thought makes his head spin.

He pushes himself up on arms that feel like rubber, ignoring the low growl from the Tyrant.

“C'mon man,” he grunts, hissing as the Tyrant’s softening member slides out of him, “Ugh. I’ve got a city to save.”

Leon limps across the room, throwing open the closest locker. He manages to find a change of clothes in the second one he checks, using the spare shirt to clean himself as best he can. There’s cum splattered on his chest and more of it leaking down his thighs.

He has to lean against the locker as he pulls the pants on around his boots, not trusting his legs to keep him supported.

He glances at the Tyrant, who’s still sitting on the floor, watching him fumble with a belt.

“I am _not_ dressing you, too.” Leon chucks the shirt at him, hitting him square in the chest. He limps back across the room to where he’d left the rest of his clothes, yanking his shirt over his head, covering the massive, hand-shaped bruises starting to form at his waist.

He turned back to the Tyrant as he finished strapping on the last pouch, only to find him standing, fully dressed, not a thread out of place. _So he can dress himself._

He strode past Leon in two thundering steps and ripped the gate off the weapons locker, tossing it to the side with a clatter.

Without a word, he turned and stomped out of the room, footsteps fading down the hall.

“Hey- wait!” Leon called, but he was already gone. “Thanks?”

He stepped over the crumpled gate, pulling the Lightning Hawk from its place on the wall, turning it over in his hands. It was fully loaded, and he found another box of bullets sitting in a cabinet. He shoved the gun into his holster, collecting anything else that seemed like it might be useful.

Leon was nearly out the door when he paused, turning back to scan the room once more.

He pulled out the Lightning Hawk and shot the computer.


	2. oh thank god, it's you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a quickie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back on my bullshit

Annette Burkin stood hunched over a computer, flicking through security cameras.

She was sure she’d finished off that FBI-posing bitch, but she had said something about not being the only one looking for G. If there was another spy skulking around the lab, she needed to know. She couldn’t let them get their hands on the virus.

Most of the cameras showed nothing but trashed rooms and gore-splattered hallways, where what remained of her coworkers stumbled around, eating each other. She was glad they were so far into their mutations.

She didn’t need to see any familiar faces.

There, near the sewers.

It was that cop who’d gotten in her way, jumping between her and the spy like some self-sacrificing idiot. He was unconscious, sitting against the concrete wall. From what Annette could see, someone had bandaged the bullet wound on his shoulder.

She hoped it hurt. If not for him, that bitch would have been dead a lot sooner.

He didn’t seem like much of a threat right now. She was just about to move onto the next camera when a hulking black figure entered the frame.

“Oh,  _ fuck” _

They sent a  _ Tyrant?! _ How did it get in the lab? God, this was so much worse than she thought. 

She watched as it stomped towards the cop, shaking the camera with every step. Umbrella must have sent that thing to take out any witnesses. Even if he were conscious, he wouldn’t stand a chance against that monster.

Annette sighed and switched to the next camera.

“Poor bastard.”

* * *

Leon awoke to a deep, throbbing pain in his shoulder, a stiff neck, and a familiar hand holding his face.

His eyes fluttered open and he found himself face to face with the Tyrant.

“Hey big guy,” he murmured, still half-asleep, “What are you doing down here?”

The Tyrant rumbled in response, sitting down hard and pulling Leon into his lap, cradling him in his arms.

It was the safest he felt all night, and sleep soon pulled him back under.

* * *

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he woke up again, cheek smooshed into the Tyrant’s chest, but the pain in his shoulder had receded to a dull ache. He yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes and shaking it from his limbs.

He wasn’t exactly _well_ _rested_ , but he no longer felt like he was going to drop dead from exhaustion, so it was certainly an improvement.

Leon looked up at the Tyrant, who stared back at him, unblinking, and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Thanks for, uh, watching over me, but I’ve really got to get going.” He managed to stand, but the Tyrant grabbed him by the belt, keeping him from walking away. A low, rumbling growl echoed through the room.

“C'mon, man, I have to go find- Hey!” Leon was yanked back into the Tyrant’s lap, hissing as hands wrapped around his already-bruised hips.

“You’re insufferable.” His sigh of frustration turned into a groan when the Tyrant growled again, grinding up against him, cock straining against leather.

Leon did  _ not _ have time for this. Ada was out there somewhere, on her own in this nightmare. She could be hurt.

She could be  _ dead. _

But… on the other hand, she  _ was _ an FBI agent. An FBI agent who’d been treating him like a burden since they met, who he’d had to fight tooth and nail just to get her to explain  _ why _ all this shit was happening.

She didn’t want him down here in the first place.

  
  


Eh, she’d be alright. For a little while.

“F-fuck, okay. Let’s make this quick, alright?” Leon fumbled with his belt, shimmying his borrowed pants down his legs and struggling to kick them off around his boots. He yelps, his world spinning as the Tyrant flips him upside-down.

He’s on his stomach, sprawled across the Tyrant’s chest, his face mere inches from that straining bulge, gasping as two massive hands grab his ass, spreading him open. Hot breath brushes across his entrance, and he keens as a wide, wet tongue follows, circling that ring of muscle.

The Tyrant is  _ savouring _ him, taking him apart, licking into his body achingly slow. He pulls at Leon’s hole, watching it stretch open, fluttering, and giving it a taste. 

It is  _ torture. _ Leon desperately tries to roll his hips back against the Tyrant’s face, but he’s held in place, unable to move. He wants more,  _ needs  _ more, he’s going to shatter into a million pieces if - if… if  _ something _ doesn’t happen.

There’s a thumb pressing into him alongside that tongue, pumping in and out of his body. It’s not enough, not enough to push him over the edge, too slow, too gentle, even as a second thumb slips in beside the first it’s still  _ not enough. _ He’s shaking, panting, whimpering, hands closing around nothing as pleasure dances along his nerve endings like static electricity, skirting just along the edge of release.

“P-please, more,  _ more, _ I need- I need it, god,  _ please.” _ The Tyrant only rumbles in response, and Leon can  _ feel _ it, feel the vibrations of it crackling up his spine. The Tyrant is pulling again, marveling in the way Leon gapes open, shoving his tongue into it.

Then the thumbs are gone, replaced by three deliciously thick fingers, fingers that crook just right, pressing against that  _ spot, _ and he’s unraveling, tipping over the edge, screaming his pleasure as he comes, streaking the Tyrant’s coat with white.

Leon’s brain is still struggling to catch up as he’s being moved, lifted off of the Tyrant and set on his stomach, his vest scraping against the concrete floor. He barely registers the creak of leather, the clink of a belt, but the hands grabbing his still-quivering thighs drag him back to reality.

The Tyrant is kneeling behind him, pulling him up his thighs, level with his cock. Leon chokes out a moan as he slides into him in one solid movement, his eyes welling with tears, burying his face in the crook of his arm. It’s painless, his body still loose from before, but he feels twice as big to his oversensitive nerves. The Tyrant draws back, nearly slipping out of him entirely before pressing back in, sweet and slow and absolutely  _ indulgent. _

It’s so different from earlier, from that desperate fuck in the S.T.A.R.S. office that Leon can hardly believe it’s the same - man? creature? - as before, but it feels so  _ good,  _ so  _ right, _ that he can hardly complain. He can’t really describe this as  _ making love _ but it’s damn close.

Leon loses himself in it, letting himself forget the stress, the fear. There’s only this, the hands on his thighs, the low, rumbling growls, the lazy thrusts and the wondrous, toe-curling  _ bliss. _ His moans are breathless, gasping.

He’s suddenly being pulled upright, back thumping against the Tyrant’s chest as he slides his hands to hook under Leon’s knees. He buries his face into the crook of Leon’s neck, mouthing at the exposed skin, teeth dragging, creating what will surely be a vibrant bruise. Leon groans as the Tyrant’s hips buck faster, growling in his ear.

“C-ah, c'mon, please,” he moans, “g-give it to me.”

The words are like flipping a switch. The Tyrant roars in Leon’s ear as his orgasm rips through him. Leon can feel his cock twitching inside him as he comes,  _ filling _ his body, and it’s almost enough to wring a second climax from him. Almost.

The Tyrant slips out of Leon and just… holds him for a while, breathing hard.

Leon’s hips are cramping. He squirms, trying to get comfortable, but the Tyrant sets him down, hauling himself to his feet. Leon does the same, grimacing at the feeling of cum dripping down his thighs. There’s more than last time.

He is  _ not _ putting pants on like this.

“Hey, you.” The Tyrant looks up from scraping the cum off his trench coat. “Are there any showers down here?”

He must have been working on his facial expressions, because that could  _ almost _ pass for a grin. Before Leon can protest, the Tyrant tosses him over one shoulder, carrying him back towards the station.

“W- Hey! I didn’t say you could come with!” The Tyrant only rumbles in response, not breaking stride.

“Alright, fine, but don’t expect to get anything out of this.” He rumbles again, a strange, coughing noise.

He was  _ laughing. _

“Asshole.”

* * *

Leon caught his reflection in the cracked mirror, startled by the  _ vivid purple _ creeping down his throat.

“Oh, fuck.” That’s not something his collar would cover.

* * *

  
  


“So… what do we do now?” Leon asked, tying the bandage snug around Ada’s thigh.

“Get yourself ou- what the fuck happened to your neck?”

God, this was gonna be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ada: leon you slut i was gone for an HOUR


End file.
